


leave me out with the waste

by cupcakeb



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26082568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakeb/pseuds/cupcakeb
Summary: She still thinks it's 'too soon' to tell their friends they broke up, because Omar and Ander just got engaged and Carla is already 'too cynical' about love. It’s all bullshit excuses and he doesn’t appreciate them. He hasn’t told anyone yet, but that’s because he’s in denial, not because he wants to protect their friends.They’re in a booth at their favorite pub, surrounded by all of their friends, and she’s pressed against him the way she always is after a few drinks, her leg slung over his, leaning into him a little. All of this is totally fucked.
Relationships: Rebeca "Rebe" de Bormujo Ávalos/Valerio Montesinos Hendrich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	leave me out with the waste

**Author's Note:**

> Just some good old fashioned angst! Title's from Damien Rice's 9 Crimes.

"Hi," Rebeka says.  


It’s the first thing she's said to him since, "We're done, Valerio. I just can't."  
  
And look, he knows they've been kind of fucked lately. They've been fighting more than anything, and he hates it, but it's a phase, okay? It's just because she's stressed with university and internships and exams and he's trying really fucking hard to not fuck up the whole winery thing. He’s 24 and she’s 23, and it would be insane to throw away two years together over a few little fights.  
  
It doesn’t help that they live together. Sure, they have separate rooms and another roommate to act as a buffer — poor Pedro, honestly — but seeing her around all the time and having her barely even look at him has been horrible.  
  
So yeah, it’s been a really tough week of complete silence. He wasn’t even gonna come tonight, knowing she’d be here, but then she’d texted him this morning, told him to meet him outside the pub so they could “go in together” and it took him three re-reads of the text to understand that she actually fucking expects him to act like nothing happened. Like they didn’t have the most serious, frustrating fight he’s ever had with anyone in his life because she insisted on breaking his heart into a million little pieces when she decided to give up on them.  
  
Anyway; that’s how things are going. They’re outside their favorite local pub, waiting for everyone else to join them for some low key birthday drinks thing Ander organized for Omar. The fact that she wouldn’t even share a fucking Uber over here with him bodes well for the night ahead.  
  
She still thinks it's 'too soon' to tell their friends they broke up, because Omar and Ander just got engaged and Carla is already 'too cynical' about love. It’s all bullshit excuses and he doesn’t appreciate them. He hasn’t told anyone yet, but that’s because he’s in denial, not because he wants to protect their friends.  
  
The only reason he agreed to go along with this is because maybe the fact that she still hasn’t told anyone means there’s still hope for them. He really, really doesn’t want to stay broken up.  
  
Now he just nods at her, awkwardly stands a few feet away from her, and hopes their friends fucking show up soon because this is literal hell.  
  
When Ander and Omar arrive, it’s like she flips a switch, because she casually grabs his hand and smiles at him the way she always does when he holds the door open for her. It’s really fucked up — he had no idea she was this good of an actress. It makes him wonder what else she’s faked over the two years they’ve been dating.  
  
Then they’re in a booth, surrounded by all of their friends, and she’s pressed against him the way she always is after a few drinks, her leg slung over his, leaning into him a little. All of this is totally fucked.  
  
It’s a drastic contrast to the way she literally ran away from him just this morning when he walked into the kitchen to get some coffee.  
  
At least she can’t run away from him now. He’s gonna use that to his advantage.  
  
“Admit it,” he scolds quietly, his nose brushing her cheek as he whispers in her ear, and if his hand wasn’t currently running up the inside of her thigh, it might sound mean. ”You get off on them believing you still love me."  
  
She lets out this little whine that he absolutely loves (that he _missed_ ) and Lu groans next to them. “Can you two _please_ keep the dirty talk in the bedroom? There are other people around, you know?”  
  
He’d normally have a comeback for that, or Rebe would proposition him loudly just to fuck with Lu, but not tonight. He winks at Lu, and keeps his hand under Rebe’s skirt, just because he can.  
  
Maybe she needs a little reminder of what being with him is like.  
  
The night spirals from there.  
  
Every time one of their friends announces that they’re leaving, Valerio feels dread coursing through his veins. He knows the second they’re alone, she’ll go back to ignoring him completely and it’s going to be horrible.

It’s just them and Lu left at the end of the night, and Lu finally finishes her martini and glances over at them, groaning when she sees the way he’s pulling Rebeka closer. She has fully moved into his lap at some point during the night, and even if he didn’t watch her drink four glasses of wine, he’d still know she’s tipsy just from the way she’s melted into him. They fit together so well, and as bizarre as tonight has been, it’s almost a little comforting to know her muscle memory still remembers how to cuddle up to him. 

Lu gets up and blows them a kiss, says goodbye and makes a snarky remark about them probably not going to miss her company. He wishes that was true. 

The way they just sit there in silence for a moment, him still with his arms around her stomach, her toying with the watch on his wrist, would be nice if he wasn’t busy overthinking how the fuck he can leverage this whole thing and make her change her mind about everything. 

“Want another drink?” It’s mostly a whisper, and he doesn’t need to bite down on her earlobe to get her to reply, but he still does. She lets out a quiet whine. He'll keep touching her until she makes him stop. That's what he decided earlier, when she started playing with his curls as she made conversation with Nadia.

There’s no way they’re not gonna sleep in the same bed tonight. He’s not gonna let that happen. 

“I don’t need another drink,” she replies, then removes her hand from his arm to grab her phone. She’s calling them an Uber, and he bites his tongue instead of passive-aggressively asking if she wants him to call his own, like they can’t even be in the same car together. He’s allowed to be bitter. 

When the Uber arrives, she gets out of the booth first and doesn’t push him away when he immediately grabs her hand again. She’s never been very good at not touching him when she drinks. 

In the back of the car, she stays on her side next to the window and he stays on his. But he can feel her glance at him when she thinks he isn’t looking, knows she gets antsy on late-night car rides home that hold the promise of sex when they arrive. No break up is gonna change that. 

They finally get out of the car, and she hovers near him as he fumbles with his keys, suddenly afraid to be utterly and completely alone with her in the very same space where so many of their fights went down. 

Once inside, he turns on the kitchen lights and grabs a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, taking a swig. He offers it to her and she silently takes it from him, gulping down a fair amount of the amber liquid. If things weren’t already tense, he’d compliment her for it. His girl knows how to shoot whiskey. 

Now that he thinks about it, he might be a little tipsy too. 

He takes the bottle again, sets it down on the kitchen counter and just fucking goes for it — what’s the worst that could happen? She’s wearing this sexy leather skirt he loves and he grabs onto her belt loops to pull her close, then kisses her the best way he knows how to. His enthusiasm is met with intensity, because she instantly starts opening her mouth for him, pushes at the bottom of his shirt and literally moans when she sees his exposed chest. 

He’d laugh at that, but he knows his reaction will be exactly the same once her stupid fucking shirt comes off. If it comes off at all; god, he really hopes he gets to take it off of her. If she changes her mind halfway through and makes him stop he'll probably _die_. 

Her hands are on his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease, and he honestly can’t believe they’re just gonna fuck instead of talk about this. She’s normally so adamant about talking about shit — that’s why they’ve been fighting so much in the first place. 

This is no time to be greedy though. He goes for the side zipper of her top, the one he’s been playing with all night, and practically rips the stupid fabric off of her. Then he reaches for her skirt, and she laughs all annoyed and impatient when he can’t find the zipper, just pushes him away until his back hits the kitchen counter and pulls it off of her hips herself. 

She’s still wearing her black ankle boots with the slight heel, and he’s not gonna tell her to take them off if she doesn’t want to. It’s completely unreal how hot she looks, standing in front of him in black, lacy underwear (did she plan this?) and her hot as fuck rocker-chic boots. 

Then she practically sprints back over to him, a determined look on her face. Valerio knows not to fuck with her when her eyes zero in on him like this. 

When she’s close enough to touch again, he doesn’t bother to be gentle, just grabs her hips roughly and hoists her up onto the kitchen counter, grinning into the desperate kiss they’re in the middle of when she groans as her skin makes contact with the cold marble countertop. 

Her eyes are still glossed over when he pulls back, her pupils dilated so wide he briefly wonders if she snuck off to do coke without him earlier. He hasn’t seen her this wanton in a while. It's a nice reminder that he doesn't _just_ bring out the worst in her, all the time. (He'll never forgive her for casually accusing him of that during a fight once.)

“Are you—“ and of course she doesn’t let him finish that question, just pulls on his hair forcefully to go back to kissing him again. His fault for trying to talk, probably. Impatient, horny Rebeka is one of his favorite iterations of her. (He loves all of them, though.)  


He briefly spares a thought for their other roommate, Pedro, who’s probably fast asleep in his room with no idea what’s happening in their kitchen right now. Val honestly doesn’t really care, though. 

It’s all push and shove and biting and hair pulling from there. Rebeka is so rough with him, he’d be worried about her being okay if he didn’t know they’re literally broken up and taking a week’s worth of pent up tension out on each other. 

It’s so, so mind-numbingly good. It’s almost good enough to make the emotional turmoil of the past week worth it. 

He’s got her right where he wants her — she’s so close, she’s resorted to digging her nails into his shoulder blades hard enough to draw blood, and he figures he gets to be a little bit of a dick to her. Payback. 

Stilling his hips completely, he holds her in place. It takes her a second to understand what’s caused the sudden lack of friction, but when she does, the look in her eyes is one of pure and utter hatred. 

“So,” he rasps against the apple of her cheek. He makes sure to sound menacing and cruel when he says, “Still want to break up with me?” 

After two years with her, he really should’ve anticipated her next move. The bitch pulls away, grins at him meanly, and slaps him so hard he sees stars. 

Fuck. She’s literally the hottest woman on this planet. He’s _never_ gonna do better than her.

His hand comes up to run over his cheek, laughing when he finds a little cut from where her nail got caught on his skin. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I’m not going to,” she replies hotly, then crosses her legs behind his back to pull herself closer to him. “Move,” she commands, and when he does it’s for both of their sakes; the build-up to this has been so insane, he’s absolutely dying for release. 

He really doesn’t want this to end in their kitchen, though, so he grabs her tight and carries her to his room, moaning at the loss of contact when he throws her down on his bed roughly. 

When she finally clenches around him moments later, she’s basically screaming, and he thinks he sees a tear run down her cheek. He could be wrong about that; he’s a little busy chasing his own high, which comes both too soon and not soon enough. 

Spent, he collapses on top of her and moans when she hugs him close. Please let this casual affection mean something. Please let her not just write it off as post-coital haze clouding her judgment. 

Eventually, she nudges him and he sighs dramatically, then flops down on his side next to her, his hand running over her ribcage teasingly. 

“We still need to talk about this,” he suggests, because maybe if he shows he’s willing to talk this out, she’ll take him up on it. 

“Okay,” she nods, then runs a hand through her messed up hair. “Talk.”

This is his one chance to make a case for himself — to make a case for them — and he’s totally blanking. 

“Just don’t fucking break up with me, okay?”

“Wow, eloquent as always, Val.” 

“This is stupid.” 

"What's stupid?" she asks, staring at him. "Me wanting more than you'll give me?"

He scoffs. So what if she’s better at putting things into words than him. Big deal. 

“You know, I prefer you ignoring me over this shit.” 

Just for the hell of it, he traces a line from the freckles on her collarbone down to her belly button. She shivers, clearly affected by his touch, then rolls her eyes.  
  
"You may know how to touch me, but I know how to talk to you."

It’s redundant for her to say, but that doesn’t make it any less true. His hand is on her breast now, and he’s just casually running a finger over her nipple because he knows how sensitive she gets and it’s amusing, considering the conversation they’re having. The way she tenses up and closes her eyes for a second is a great distraction from it all. 

Which reminds him. It’s probably his turn to say something too honest and scare her off.  
  
“You know, I always thought _I'd_ be the one to fuck it up."  


There's venom behind his words, and she flinches. Fuck. 

She also reaches for his hand, gripping it tight.  
  
“Okay, alright, thanks.”  
  
She’s naked, and in his bed, and she’s fucking pissed. It’s totally fucking with his head, the combination of those things. So contradictory.  
  
Then her grip on his hand loosens and her other hand is on his cheek and she’s kissing him hard, like she's trying to prove something. It's too late for all this, he knows, but damn it, he can't stop himself from kissing her back. He hates himself for it.

Pulling away, she pushes him onto his back to straddle him, then meets his eyes like she can’t quite believe this is happening. “This is over,” she says, but the way she grinds against him and rolls her hips seems to say otherwise. “It’s never gonna work.”

Mixed messages all around. He literally has no idea whether it’s her body betraying her mind or her mind betraying her body at this point. 

He shushes her, then kisses her again. This conversation can probably wait. 

Delaying the inevitable is something they both enjoy. 

She’s still there in the morning, clinging to him as she sleeps soundly, and he figures that must be a good sign. 

Maybe they can still salvage this, somehow. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me [on tumblr](http://cupcakeb.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (this is probably my favorite thing I've written in a long time!)


End file.
